Once upon a time, there was a castle little white house in a small city and it was covered with a thick blanket of beautiful roses a bunch of nasty weeds and tree branches. A fair princess suburban housewife lived inside with her handsome, devoted, and brave prince husband. The husband fought off many fire-breathing dragons tackled the yard work and kept them safe inside their home.

The husband worked to cut away all the branches so that sunlight would once again shine on their house. A great pile of wood grew in the backyard. Higher and higher every day. Bit by bit, the housewife and the husband cleared away the pile but never seemed to make any headway. The housewife grew uneasy because she was originally from the country and she knew what was drawn to woodpiles — critters.

But surely there would be no critters in the city…right?

First, there was a possum.

Then a rat in the garden.

And then another one of those fire-breathing dragons a snake.

In the dark of the night the husband summoned the housewife to the drawbridge porch. There on the cement slithered the snake. He sought her country expertise in creepy crawly things. That, and her ability to hold a flashlight.

The snake looked suspect and no chances could be taken with their prized stallion terrier mix living in the backyard. The husband took a whack at it and disabled it. Then the housewife took the shovel and chopped off the snake’s head.

And then they frantically searched the tomes in their library the Internet to see if they’d killed a poisonous viper or a harmless, helpful creature.

Does anyone know what this is? (WARNING: Don’t click on this link if you’re sensitive to photos of snakes with their heads cut off.)

Crud. Looks like he was one of the good guys.

If you leave the OKC metro area and head south on I-35, after about an hour you’ll be in the middle of the Arbuckle Mountains. Down there just south of Highway 7 running through Davis, is a little place surrounded by vehicles. At least, I haven’t figured out a time to visit that it’s not surrounded. Officially known as Smokin’ Joe’s Rib Ranch & RV Park, but more affectionately referred to by its many patrons as Smokin’ Joe’s or just plain “Joe’s.”

I’ve never been much of a barbeque person. That’s got to be a surprise to some people, given my upbringing. It’s not the barbeque itself that I don’t like, it’s the nasty sauce that often accompanies it. It takes a very special barbeque sauce for me to put it on what I’m eating. Nothing too sweet, nothing to vinegary. Joe’s has some that I really like even if it isn’t my favorite.

But it’s not the sauce that’s so special — it’s their food. Joe’s is the first local place that I’ve really liked. And I like it. A lot. You won’t go wrong with their chopped brisket (though you might want to skip it if little puddles of orange grease frighten you), the ribs, or the sliced brisket. I’ve seen someone order the smoked bologna, but if you know my history with that then you know I won’t be having it any time soon. My dad enjoys the smoked chicken (which I’m thinking of trying this weekend) and he and my mom usually split one of the 2- or 3-meat dinners. You’re still going to bring home 1-2 lbs of food, so be prepared. The portions are huge.

Don’t go during peak hours unless you’re willing to wait and battle a crowd. Twelve to 2 and 5 to 7 you’re looking at a decent little wait and the possibility that there’s no place to sit. Go on a nice day when you might not mind sitting on their front porch or in the bed of your pickup.

(Did I really just suggest that?)

There’s another thing you need to be prepared for — the table stake out. My mom sure enough doesn’t want to sit outside in the heat when we visit Joe’s, so as soon as we order, we start watching. It’s all in the body language. And the amount of visible plate. You can tell when someone’s close to being done. And the minute they start to move it’s VITAL that you get close to that table.

Laughing, talking, having a big time? Nope. Staking out a table.

Then you have to be ready to be neighborly. In a place like this you can’t sit down with a group of four at a table that seats six and expect no one to join you. On this particular visit we were joined by a couple (the gentleman half of the couple is the man at the end of the table in the above photo) that used to go to church with my aunt and uncle 30 minutes away from our hometown. While this restaurant is 30 minutes in the other direction. Of course, didn’t know who they were until we got out to the truck and finally asked my mom. Because that’s how I roll.

Smokin’ Joe’s — bringing folks together.

And, hey, Ree? I know your farm is in southern Oklahoma and you’ve mentioned the county a time or two. So, by my calculation, this lovely little spot could be right on your way…or a small detour out of your way. I’m thinking since Marlboro Man is a guy and he’s from Oklahoma, this could be right up his alley. Once you’ve eaten just hop back on 7, head on over to 81, and you should be back on track in no time. And you can call me Tom-Tom.

So, the next time you’re down in Davis, tell them I sent you. And then they’ll give you a funny look because the good people of Joe’s have no idea who I am.

I don’t like blogs that make fun of people. But this post might make you think I do. Fair warning.

Robert and Zane, this is dedicated to you guys.

You really can’t take me anywhere. I almost always have my camera and I behave very much like that dog from Up!, (SQUIRREL!) getting a shot of whatever catches my eye. Usually I take a picture of whatever I’m going to eat. Food is just so stinkin’ nice to look at. When we go to a more upscale location I do leave the camera at home. Oh, is there ever reluctance.

I especially like to have my camera around when Kevin and I go home for the weekend to visit my mom and dad. Yes, I still call it home. City life is for the birds. Gimme that countryside. You just never know what you’re going to see.

So, I teased the other day on Twitter that I was going to be challenging The Pioneer Woman on my blog. Well, that’s tomorrow. TODAY, I’m giving you a sneak peek of the place that serves The Best barbeque in Oklahoma.

Mostly it’s a celebration of rat-tails though.

I covered their innocent faces. Kevin’s ear is not innocent and received no such treatment.

Isn’t that amazing? Don’t come near me if you have a rat-tail or a mullet and you don’t want your picture taken because I WILL. Now, try not to risk life and limb if you do this and make sure to turn off your flash. Seriously, you shouldn’t have it on in the first place. I hate flash more than I hate the city. No lie.

Come back by tomorrow for detailed directions and the name of this glorious place nestled in the hills.

I’ve requested my last meal. (We’re going to get it here in a bit.)

I have no plans for the rest of the day.

Other than the pile of laundry that needs to be folded, the bathroom that I’ve been meaning to deep clean all summer, and the dishes that I’ve let go for a few days.

But after we have lunch (and drop off some recycling, take Kevin to vote across town, and take me to vote a few streets over) I’ll be back in my chair, kicking back, taking a nap, and dreaming that I’m back home like last week. Cause there’s no where else I’d rather spend my last day.

I have a history of breaking and entering, but that’s another story. For the record, this is the first time (and only, I anticipate) I have used any part of an ax to do so. Let me break it down for you.

Haha. Break it down.

It was a hot Friday in June. This June. So like, one month and a couple of days ago. I was doing what any good gardener does early that morning — watering my precious plants. That day my husband had to be at a professional development seminar about 15 minutes away, so he was up early that morning as well. I had lots planned for the day. The next morning we were leaving to fly back east for our extremely delayed trip to visit his parents and a few other family members. There was laundry to be done, dishes to wash, animals to care for, and of course, because I don’t do things until the last minute — bags to be packed.

Kevin leaned out the back door to tell me he was leaving. I smiled and waved, continuing on with my task. Watering took me about another 10 minutes and then I decided to plant a shrub that had needed to be in the ground weeks before. It was on the front porch so I headed to the back door to take a short cut through the house. The handle turned, but the door didn’t open.

Hmm. Must be stuck.

I pushed harder. Nothing. The deadbolt was locked.

Now, I wasn’t immediately angry. Just aggravated. Like I said, history of breaking and entering and all that, I’m pretty good at getting out of jams. I’m resourceful. So I assessed the situation.

1. There was no going through the backdoor. It’s brand new with good locks and there’s just no messing it up to get in the house.
2. My phone was in the house
3. Every other door into my house was locked.
4. All the windows were locked.
5. All of my harmless neighbors had already left for work.
6. I wasn’t sufficiently dressed to go knocking on doors. It was 8 a.m. Can I get an “amen” from a lady who knows what I’m talking about?

It was much worse than I had originally thought.

But then I remembered. We have a really old door on the back of the garage that needed to be replaced anyway, so I thought I could just knock off the door knob like they do in movies and make my way in.

First I wanted to see if I could slam into the thing with my shoulder and get in that way.

I hurt my shoulder. The door didn’t move.

I grabbed a brick and went at the door knob. Bang. Bang. BANG. Nothing. I should tell you that the door knob was already pretty badly torn up from when my old dog, Lulu, had her nervous breakdown and would chew on it. And the underneath side of the door. Thanks, Lu. I wouldn’t have made it inside the house if it weren’t for you. I went at it with the brick for another 10 minutes or so with no results.

Then I grabbed the hoe. Stuck it behind the door knob and thought I could just pop that thing right off there.

Then I broke the hoe.

As a last resort, I tried to stick my hand up under the door to see how much further up the door knob was so that maybe I could unlock it. It was a long way. I tried unlocking it from the other side with a stick. Didn’t work. I tried pulling a MacGuyver and using some tough grass as a key. I think you can imagine how that went.

While my hand was under there I felt the ax handle and I pulled it out.

FYI, there’s no ax head on the end of the handle. Just so we’re clear.

I tried loosening the door knob with the ax handle. That didn’t work. Then I tried breaking away the bottom of the door with it. I did see some progress there, but I was quickly losing hope. I had been locked out for about 40 minutes at this point and was nearing tears. There’s just something about being locked out of your house, you know?

And then the dog walked over and laid down beside me and I knew — I was going to die out here.

With one final burst of adrenaline, the kind that makes me believe that YES, I can give birth to a baby someday like my ancestor did out in the woods without any IV drips, I grabbed the handle and plowed through that door. Chopped about a quarter of it down. I reached up under that door and unlocked it.

Sweet relief. I was in the house. And as soon as I was inside, the phone rang. I ran to answer it, out of breath for so many reasons. It was my mom.

“I have been trying to call you. Why weren’t you answering the phone.”

WAIL.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I…was…locked…out of the house [sobbing commences].”

“Well how did that happen?”

“Kevin locked me out!”

(I should probably mention that my time outside had been spent alternately praying and plotting how I would kill my husband.)

“Well, he didn’t mean to.”

And then she laughed. And I was in no mood for it. She could tell and we weren’t on the phone much longer.

As I was in the middle of typing a not-so-nice text message to my husband, the phone rang again and I answered it all pitiful, expecting it to be my mom again.

Instead, it was an administrator calling to set up an interview with Kevin. An interview for a job that he needed. That we needed. There was no time for being upset. And that was nice of God to intervene in that way because, seriously? I was about to Throw. Down. For the next 45 minutes I had to work on contacting Kevin at this meeting he was at, which proved to be very difficult when he had his phone on silent, but I finally managed to get a hold of him. He had the interview right then and we found out a few weeks later that he got the job.

And that’s how I busted through the door with an ax (handle).

There are a few things you need to be prepared for whenever you head out to pick blackberries. And since now is the time to be plucking those delicious dark fruits, I thought I’d share a few tips with you.

1. Silly hats, long sleeves, and long pants are a requirement. Chiggers, yellow jackets, spiders, little wormy bugs, and just about every critter you’d like to stay away from loves blackberries. And it’s gonna get hot out there so protect your head, face, and neck with a floppy hat. Or in my case a hat that is one size too small and makes me look like I belong to a back-to-basics religious community.

I have a big head.

No, not in a conceited way. In a “no-hat-ever-fits-my-head” way.

2. While you’re at it, spray yourself down with some OFF!

3. Wear decent shoes. You’re likely going to have gravel roads and definitely some briars and brambles to make your way through.

4. Make sure you have a good container to hold your berries. We like to use Rubbermaid containers that we fill with water as soon as we get back home. It’s good to rinse out all the sticks, leaves, ants, and little worms that might have made their way into your spoils.

5. Don’t forget to stop and enjoy the view. Blackberries are often found off the beaten path and this time of year there are tons of wildflowers blooming in Oklahoma. Be sure to take a moment to treasure the beauty that’s around you.

I find a lot of beauty in old barns. Blame it on my roots, I don’t mind.

6. Remember — all this sweet goodness comes at a price. You’re gonna get scraped, scratched, poked, and pierced. You may even be picking out the stickers days later (I was and always am).

(after a while, it’s hard to tell where the blackberry juice ends and the blood begins — yuck.)

But in the end, it’s worth it.

30th Anniversary Stairway to Heaven
Elmore City, OK
April 17, 2010

If you’re going to be in Oklahoma this weekend you’re still looking for something to do, the City of Elmore City has you covered all day long! Smack dab in between Oklahoma City and Dallas, just off of I-35 you can get a taste of small town flavor and take part in the festivities.

This Saturday, Elmore City is celebrating the 30th anniversary of the first prom held at Elmore City High School (now Elmore City – Pernell) back in 1980. You may know it as the historic prom that inspired the film Footloose.

Some highlights going on throughout the day:

• 10:00 a.m. — S. Main Street — 30th Anniversary Stairway to Heaven Event Kick Off
• 10:15-45 a.m. — Community Center — Dance Contests (Twist, Electric Slide)
• 11:00 a.m. — S. Main Street — Lawn Mower Races
• 11:30 a.m. — ECP Track Field — Lawn Mower Races
• 1:00 p.m. — Community Center — Oklahoma City International Folk Dancers
• 3:00 p.m. — Downtown Elmore City — 30th Anniversary Parade
• 4:30 p.m. — Community Center — ECP Alumni Meet & Greet
• 5:30 p.m. — Downtown Elmore City — Promenade
• 7:00 p.m. — S. Main Street — 30th Anniversary Street Dance

Complete Schedule
Directions + Map Pinpointing Storm Shelters (this is Oklahoma)

Hope to see you there! For more information, contact City Hall at (580) 788-2345

The City of Elmore City has no idea I’m doing this. I wasn’t asked. I’m just a little ol’ alumna that’s pretty stinking excited!

Just got off the phone with my dad’s dad, “PawPaw” as we affectionately call him. I’m going to quote him directly.

“Guess what I’m eating right now? Brazil nuts and fried bananas. They go good together. Kinda like Fritos and V8 Juice.”

He went on to tell me that he’s come up with some interesting combinations in his years. I’d have to agree. And now I know where my dad got it. And maybe why I love spaghetti sandwiches with ranch dressing.